I'm Sorry
by lequeenofmoondoor
Summary: Written for the spn reversebang. Dean could remember the light in Sam's eyes, that light that had stayed from birth to sick toddler to rebellious teenager to last month. That light wasn't there anymore, and god, he wished that it was. Warning: Major Character death.


** Written for the SPN_Reversebang; it'll be on there tomorrow probably. Artist: asheirwood. Thanks to her for her amazing art and to Molly, for reading literally a page at a time for me. A giant, huge, mega thanks to precious-passenger, my Dean, for being the best beta a girl could ask for.**

Dean had a lot of memories. Anyone would, after living for over thirty-five years. Some were pretty horrible, others not half bad, and a few even pretty good. Most days, it seemed like the bad ones threatened to overwhelm everything else. Still, there were those little bright spots that shone through in his mind. One of Dean's favorite memories had to be July 4th ,1996.

Dad had taken off on a hunt- probably a water spirit or a witch or something like that- and the brothers were left to look after themselves. They almost always were, so it wasn't really a big deal. The Winchesters had only been there for about two weeks, but it was already shaping up to be better than some of the other crap-holes that they had stayed in. The motel room was pretty clean, and the normally shy Sammy had made friends with the boys who played basketball at the park across the street. Dean had even gotten laid during his first week. It wasn't too hard, with his looks and cool car.

That cool car was, on that July night, parked next to an empty field about a mile outside of the small town. Sam hadn't known why they were traveling out to the middle of nowhere until Dean revealed what he had bought the last time that they had passed through Pennsylvania- fireworks. The younger Winchester had grinned widely, his face filled with childish happiness. Dean had to pause for a moment to take in his expression. It felt like forever since the seventeen-year-old had seen even a hint of the little boy that Sam used to be. Ever since the kid had learned about what really lurked in the darkness, he had become more reserved, losing himself into the safety of school and books. Dean had nearly forgotten exactly how young his little brother was until that moment.

As soon as the Impala had stopped, Sam rushed out of his seat and around to the trunk. He ran back though, having forgotten the keys and taking them from his brother. Getting out on his own side, Dean chuckled lightly at his enthusiasm. As he stood up, he saw his younger brother slam the trunk, a crate of fireworks in his arms. Sammy gave him a lopsided grin, full of excitement and anticipation.

Dean was hurried along with something pushy like "C'mon, let's go!" or "What are you waiting for?". They practically ran to the open space in the circle of trees, where Sam dropped the fireworks ceremoniously on the grass and grabbed two sparklers from the box… or at least the older Winchester had thought that they were sparklers. Dean thought that they were, but he wasn't entirely sure. They had just looked really cool on the shelf, so he'd grabbed the package. He lit the ends of the (probably) sparklers easily, brushing away Sam's brief concern that he didn't have his lighter. Of course he would have his lighter; as one of the few things that Dean actually owned, he carried it with him everywhere he went. Like every other time he had used it, it didn't fail him. The sparklers shot up small fireworks, bathing the two teens in color.

He remembered being kind of surprised when Sam turned to look at him instead of the crate filled with explosives.

"Dad would never let us do anything like this," the youngest Winchester grinned, smile shining brighter than the fireworks, "Thanks, Dean. This is great."

Dean didn't have time to answer before he was attacked with a hug from the rapidly growing beanpole he had for a brother. He squeezed back tightly after getting over the initial shock. It felt like forever since Sam had really hugged him, or even let Dean do it. There were a few exceptions, but only when one or both of them were sick. They were both huge cuddlers when they didn't feel well. But other than that, it had been a while. Dean assumed that with all of the quick growing up that his baby brother had to do since he learned that monsters were real, Sam had started feeling like affection was babyish and off-limits. Dean blamed their dad wholeheartedly for that stupid thought. The grizzled hunter had been brushing off all of Sam's feelings, all of his joy and fear and sadness, to make him a hunter. The older brother knew that he went through the same thing… But it was different.

He hadn't known any other way. He had been a child for four years before he had to stop everything and hunt. He didn't get to have a real childhood. Sam did, though, because of Dean. Because he understood what it was like to be a freaking kid, it hurt him to have to change so suddenly. It forced him to build up this thick wall of anger and resentment. As the person who had seen Sam as an innocent little boy, it killed Dean to watch his brother seal himself off. It felt good, though, to get reassurance that the thirteen-year-old could still be happy.

All too soon for Dean's liking, the hug broke; Sam was eager to get the main attraction on the road. The older grinned easily and tossed the lighter, nodding his head. Sammy caught it and raced to the box, nearly tripping over himself in his excitement. Dean had hardly seen the flame flicker before his brother was running back to him, yelling, "Fire in the hole!"

The fireworks exploded, shimmering red, green, and gold against the dark night sky. They spluttered and flew high, some only small sparks against navy and others giant bursts of color, spreading light everywhere. Clapping his hands, Dean let out a bark of laughter. It was awesome, all of it. He coughed a bit at all of the smoke and turned to look at Sam. In all of the commotion, he had run to the other side of the fireworks. He was jumping and whooping loudly, and that was when Dean noticed the spark.

It wasn't a spark like a hungry flame in the grass, threatening to consume everything in it's path. Dad would have killed them if they accidentally committed arson. Besides, Dean was afraid… really didn't like fire. The spark was in Sam's eyes, shining clear even through the thick curtain of smoke. God, the older Winchester had missed that intense glow burning in those hazel eyes. The last time that Sam had looked that young and free had to have been months before that summer, and Dad had effectively shut it down. The kid had quickly reined it back in, the way too practiced mask going up again. Dean was so excited to see that mask finally down again. He didn't care how dead he'd be if their dad ever found out that he had bought and launched fireworks. He didn't care how that really hot chick- Cameron? Carly? Cassidy?- who had been more than willing to hook up with him that night. The only thing that mattered to Dean was the light shining in his brother's eyes that he knew he wouldn't see again for a long time.

Dean swirled his amber drink around slowly, reminiscing. Sammy used to smile all the time when he was little, his eyes shining brighter than any star. Even when he was sick as a dog, the kid seemed to radiate light. Dean wasn't quite sure how, but he could remember his brother being little and running a fever. It was kind of like a movie, but with the colors a little faded and the sounds a little dulled. He swallowed the dregs left at the bottom of his glass and ordered another drink, attributing the oddly clear memory to being a side effect of being a demon. He really didn't want to think too much into it.

He could remember when Sam was about five and had a pretty bad cold. It was nearing the end of December, so Dean had to have been nearly ten. On that day, he was supposed to have a Christmas party in his class. He had pretty much hated his teacher at the time, Mr. Gilmore. The old man had it out for him! Dean may have been late a couple of times, but he had perfectly good reasons. He had to walk Sam to his kindergarten class each morning, which was on the opposite side of the school. He wasn't about to let his shy baby brother walk all the way to Mrs. Robinson's room all by himself. Stupid Mr. Gilmore, though, didn't see it like that and had given Dean two whole lunch detentions. After that, Dean hated going to class on principle. But for one day, the day before Christmas break, he could tolerate his teacher for the sake of cookies and cupcakes that he could smuggle home to his brother. Of course, because of how awesome it was going to be, Sam had gotten sick.

It had started off simply enough on that cold December morning with a cough that woke Sam up. Despite the near zero temperature outside, the kid was burning up. Worried, Dean had immediately decided that neither of them would be going to school that day. Sam threw a fit at that, which his older brother blamed on the fever. Even if the kid loved everything about school (other than having to leave his brother's side), he wasn't the type to throw a tantrum. Sam was normally a pretty calm little kid, though he could be a little rambunctious at times. The temper tantrum thankfully knocked him out, giving Dean time to run to the pharmacy across the street.

Sam had woken up a few hours later, hacking out a rough cough like before. Dean winced in sympathy and rushed over to him, making him take some of the kiddie medicine that he had bought earlier. Although he was clearly disgusted by the taste, the little boy drank it obediently. Dean had to bite back a laugh at the image in front of him- a small, shaggy-haired five-year-old with a grossed-out expression and a shirt at least four sizes too big for him. The older WInchester had to admit that it was pretty freaking adorable, but Sam would get pouty and angry if he was called that.

"D'you want something to eat, kido?" he had asked, receiving long brown hair whipping around with a no. He tried again, saying "Do you wanna watch some tv?"

"Thundercats?" Sam had rasped. Dean's heart broke for his poor baby brother, and he nodded. He could willingly watch that stupid show for one day. He gently picked Sammy up and carried him over to the small couch. He placed the kid down and grabbed a blanket. As Dean sat down, he felt a furnace of heat pressed against his side. He grinned down at his Sam, glad that the little bugger sought out his big brother when he wasn't feeling well. Dean turned on the tv and flipped through the channels before hearing a familiar tune. It was a testament to how sick Sam was that he didn't sing along with the theme song.

A little while later, Dean felt a nudge against him stomach. He glanced down, surprised to see his brother's attention away from the show and towards him.

"Thanks, Dee" the sick kid had said hoarsely, using his nickname for his big brother.

'Dee' smiled back at him. "No need, little man."

He took a moment to look at Sammy properly. His face was flushed bright pink, and small beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. Dean was going to have to work out how to get that fever down some more, but it could wait a little while. The big brother had also noticed the slight trembling of Sam's chest from suppressed coughing. Definitely not a good sign in the "Sick Sam Winchester Handbook" by Dean Winchester. He would force some more medicine down the kid's throat in a little while. Maybe, if things didn't get better or got worse, he would call Dad or Pastor Jim. He didn't want to think about anything getting worse.

What really got Dean , though, were the warm hazel eyes on Sam, who was cuddled against him. They were glassy with illness, tired and a little red. Yet somehow, they still held happiness, trust, and safety at being next to his big brother, the person who always took care of him. Dean smiled to himself, a mess of emotions running through him. It was joy at having his entire world look at him like he was the sun. It was loyalty to the kid that he had dedicated his entire life to, even though he wasn't even ten yet. It was protectiveness, accompanied by a need to save and preserve that glow for as long as he possible could. It was a hint of sadness at the fact that Sam would never look at their father quite like that; almost all of the affection that the little boy had to offer went to Dean. It was wistfulness, because he knew that one day, that blind hero worship and trust wouldn't be there anymore. That was the first time that thinking about his baby brother growing up made Dean sad. But he would love that light, that shine, for as long as he possible could.

Using the memory-accessing abilities that he apparently had, Dean dove back in his mind to remember the day that he had first seen that glow in Sam's eyes. For anyone else, it would have been nearly impossible, but it oddly wasn't. It was almost as clear as day.

Dean could remember the day that Sammy was born. Dad and Mom had rushed off to the hospital early that morning, leaving him with their neighbors. Mrs. Magusen came over with her son Dillon, being a few years older than Dean, and her daughter Anne, who was the same age as him. The older woman talked on and on about how great it would be to have a little sibling, even making Dillon talk to him. The older boy was very serious about the whole topic.

"As a big brother," the ten-year-old had said, sitting Dean down, "You're gonna need to watch out for the baby. Like, if some kid pushes the baby down, you need to push him back. Being a brother means that the baby comes first, even before you. He's your responsibility. You got me?"

Dean nodded, green eyes wide. That sounded really hard. Plus, Mom always said not to be mean to anyone… But if someone was hurting his baby brother or sister, then he guessed that he had to.

The Magusens had stayed, that night, until it was almost dinner time. Dean had played with Anne for most of the day and even learned how to braid her hair. Just in case the baby was a girl, he had figured that he had better be prepared. Mrs. Magusen was nice, and she read them all a story after lunch. It was all fun, but Dean really missed his mom and dad.

It was shortly after 5 when the phone rang. The four-year-old boy raced to it, picking it up before anyone else could.

"Daddy?" he squeaked, his voice high.

There was a low chuckle on the other side of the line. "Hey, Dean-o. Guess what? You have a new baby brother. Can you give me to Kellie?"

He handed the phone to the older woman standing behind him, jumping up and down. He ran over to Dillon, yelling at the top of his lungs how he had a brother. Dean was pretty relieved. He wasn't exactly sure what he would do with a little girl.

Mrs. Magusen drove them all to the hospital in her big van, probably getting a headache from three excited children bouncing off the roof. Those children in question ran out of the car the second that it was parked and through the revolving door of the hospital. Dad was waiting for them in the waiting room, dressed from head to toe in blue. He swept Dean up in a huge hug, thanking Mrs. Magusen sincerely. She left with Dillon and Anne, waving their goodbyes and calling their congratulations.

Dad bent down then, and asked, "Do you want to see the baby?"

The little boy followed his father down the hall, suddenly worried. What if he wasn't a good big brother like his mom said he would be? What if he couldn't keep his brother safe, like Dillon said that he had to? What if the baby didn't like him at all. He would probably cry if the baby hated him as much as he hated Erika Rodgers.

Father and son arrived; the former stepped into the room while the latter hung back, nervous. Dean peeked in from behind the door frame; while he wasn't able to see the baby, he could see his mom looking down at a little blue bundle. She had seemed exhausted, but also full of adoration for the baby in her arms. Mom turned her grin towards Dean and waved for him to come in. The boy had thought that that smile was brighter than the sun. He gave her a small smile in return and ran into the room, climbing up onto the bed.

"Dean," Mom said, her voice twinkling like a thousand tiny bells, "This is your brother, Sammy."

The four-year-old glanced down at the small baby in her arms and gasped quietly. Sammy was so tiny! He looked even smaller than Rory Shepard's little sister, and that baby was really tiny. Was it normal for Sammy to be that small? He guessed so, seeing how his parents didn't seem to be worried about it.

"Would you like to hold him?" Dad had asked him gently.

Dean had nodded shakily and followed all of the instructions that they gave him. He sat straight up against the headboard and held his arms out, forming a cradle. He let out a quiet sigh when Mom gave Sam to him, making sure that his head and neck were supported. She moved to wrap an arm around her older son, pulling him in close. Dean couldn't believe how heavy his brother was for someone so small, but he didn't want to ever put him down.

"Hiya Sammy," the little boy had whispered, looking down at Sam, "I'm your big brother, Dean. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? No one's gonna be a meanie while I'm here. I'm gonna teach you how to ride a tricycle and play hide and go seek and how to tie your shoelaces really tight so that you don't trip. I'll show you how you should never talk to anyone with the last name Rodgers and how the Muppets are awesome and Gonzo is the best, but we're too little to do the things that he does. We can play a whole bunch of games together and I'll learn how to read so that I can read you bedtime stories and we can be best friends. I promise, Sammy, I'm gonna be the bestest big brother ever."

Dean felt the arm around him tighten slightly, and he looked up. Mom's blue eyes were watery, but she still looked happy. He didn't understand how someone could be happy and sad at the same time.

"Did I do something wrong, Mommy?" he asked, terrified that he had.

Mom had shaken her head, loose blond waves pulling out of her ponytail to linger in front of her face. She laughed lightly and leaned over to press a kiss against Dean's forehead, saying, "Of course not, honey. It's just that you're going to be such a good brother. Sam is going to love you so much. I know it. Oh, baby, look."

Dean had snapped his eyes back to the small form in his arms to see blue staring straight up at him. He smiled, grinning even wider when a tiny hand wrapped around his little finger. He could remember looking into those blue orbs and seeing all of the stars that he had always thought were in the sky reflected back at him. The boy hadn't even known that eyes could hold that much. Dean knew that his mom's eyes sparkled and his dad's eyes were warm, but neither of them looked quite like Sam's. He could tell that this was different, special. Like Dillon said, he had to watch out for his baby brother, and he felt like he could do that. Just looking into that bright, joyful, newborn blue filled with all of the light in the universe made him feel invincible and loved, and he planned never to let it down.

"Planned' being the operative word.

Dean was currently sitting in a bar in some small town. He thought that it was probably in Oklahoma, but he didn't really know. Frankly, he didn't really care. He had just been told to be there. For the first time that night, Dean lifted his head from his drink and looked around. The bar wasn't the greatest one that he had ever seen, but it got the job done. It had the basics: lots of drinks, cute bartenders, darkly colored walls to hide any stains, a couple of pool tables where he typically went to con drunk losers out of their money, and those drunk losers.

The debatably green-eyed man whipped out his phone and checked the time, seeing that it was nearly 10 pm. He gulped down the last of his whiskey, relishing the burn in his throat. It felt good, as sharp as the pain in his chest. Plus, Dean couldn't quite get drunk. It used to be great for beating the living shit out of random douchebag bar-goers and being the last one standing. Now, though, he only used it to dull the hurt while still keeping it alive and fresh.

The door to the bar swing open, and Dean stepped out into the chilly November air. Leaning against the wall, he took out his phone again and dialed a number that he knew by heart. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl, about eighteen or nineteen, getting harassed by a couple of large men. He didn't really feel like rescuing her; he didn't owe some stupid underage chick who was dumb enough to go to a bar anything, anything at all, so why should he help her out? Still… if Sam were there, he'd make Dean go over and play the knight in shining armor. Maybe he would when he got off of the phone. Finally, the ringing in his ear stopped and a familiar message played, one that he had heard so many times over the last few weeks.

"Sam Winchester. If you have information about my brother or an immediate issue involving something potentially supernatural, leave a message and try again later. If it's Dean… Please man, I miss you. You know where to find me."

Listening to that always made Dean want to punch someone.

He left a voicemail like he did every night. "Heya, Sammy. It's Dean, though you would have known that since I'm the only one who calls you 'Sammy'. I still miss you like crazy. I guess that's good, even if it hurts like hell. And trust me, I know exactly what that feels like. The pain keeps me more human, less homicidal demon. God, kid, I'm so sorry. I keep thinking that you're going to pick up your cell and laugh at me for being so damn sappy like a girl in a chick flick. But you won't. Because you can't. It's been killing me, every freaking day for the last twenty-two days. You didn't deserve to die, a-and it's all my fault."

He hung up the phone, letting out a bitter sigh. Dean left a similar message every day, but choking out the words he needed to say never got any easier. Unfortunately, the voicemail box would be full soon. Then he wouldn't be able to listen to even a recording of his brother's voice. He would always remember it, of course, but he found a small comfort in actually hearing it. It almost made him feel like Sammy wasn't actually gone.

Glancing to his right, Dean noticed that the girl was in a worse position than before. She was backed up against the wall, throwing up only her hands to try and stop the quickly advancing men. Dean could have sensed both her fear and the dudes' lust from over a mile away; it was overwhelming. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't just leave the chick stuck there. Sam would have skinned him alive.

"Hey fellas!" He called, nonchalantly crossing the parking lot to meet them. The men turned to him, looking burly as if they had spent their entire lives chopping wood and wrestling. Dean flashed them a dangerous grin and rolled up his dark red sleeves. The drunks marched straight up to him, wobbling slightly but trying to return the look. The Winchester rolled his eyes and easily took them out. The taller of the two ended up face planted against the cool concrete, his cheek starting to bruise. The other guy was still clinging onto consciousness but in agonizing pain. Dean had kneed him in a sensitive spot and elbowed him underneath his ribcage. He used a lot more force than he would have if he was fully human, but the barrier that told him to stop had all but disappeared.

The chick, meanwhile, was eying Dean warily. He couldn't blame her, not after the vicious and cold-hearted way that he had fought her attackers. He checked her over with a gentleness that he didn't know that he still had before going back inside.

It was what Sam would have done.

The remaining Winchester sat down on his previous stool, the thought of Sammy weighing heavy on his mind and heart. He had so many wishes. He wanted to go back in time and see those hazel eyes light up with passion and fire one last time. He wanted to save his baby brother. More than anything, he wanted to have been able to stop himself from killing the one thing that he had sworn himself to.

It had been in the bunker, close to a month ago. Sam had, through Crowley, tracked Dean down and tied him up in the dungeon. Man, the new demon really hated that freaking dungeon. He had had so much bitterness, rage, and pure and utter rage inside of him aching to get out. Those feelings had made him say terrible things, even going as far as to tell Sam that it was his fault that their mother died and that their childhood sucked.

Of course he didn't mean it, any of it. He had just really wanted to break his brother in the worst way that he could, which he regretted now with everything that he had. The guilt was eating away at his soul.

After injecting the older Winchester several more times with human blood, Sam left the room, saying that he would be back in a few minutes. Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's simple mistakes. He had just enough human blood in him that he could pass through the devil's trap with only a slight pain while still having most of a demon's strength. He snapped the ropes around his wrists, untied those around his ankles, and strolled out of the dark dungeon.

He had peeked his head around the doorframe, checking to make sure that his brother wasn't there before leaving. His main goal was to find Sam and make him pay… painfully. However, Dean needed to grab a weapon first. He knew that his favorite hunting knife would still be in his room; Sam wouldn't have had the heart to throw it out. Ironically, the partial demon would be killing his brother with the very first knife that Sam had ever used. Dean stepped in and grabbed it off of his dresser, but something caught his eye as he turned to leave.

There were a bunch of photographs strewn across his bed, as if someone had been rifling through them recently. Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust as he picked up a handful of them. Most of them seemed to be of Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam at various points in their lives. The top one was of the brothers shortly after Sam had left Stanford. Dean could remember Cassie taking that picture, saying that he'd want to have a physical memory of him and Sammy happy one day. She was pretty aware of the piece of shit that their life was, so she insisted on him taking it. The next picture was of Dad, and eleven-year-old Dean, and a seven-year-old Sam. The youngest Winchester's clothes seemed to dwarf him, both because of his small size and the fact that they were Dean's hand-me-downs. The last one that the demon had grabbed was much more recent than the rest of them. The two brothers were sitting and laughing at Bobby's house, only a few years back. That had been a pretty happy memory for Dean- it was the day that Sam had finally gotten his soul back. They were both exhausted but giddy as hell. Feeling something weird inside him, he quickly dropped the pictures onto the bed. It wasn't entirely foreign, but it was definitely unwanted. It felt almost like something human.

Dean shook it off, hurriedly dismissing it and going into the hallway. He didn't want any human emotions, not when he could be fueled by hatred. The hatred felt better than the alternative, letting him kill and destroy without any guilt. It was a sickness, but he liked it. Hell, he reveled in it.

The Winchester walked cautiously through the bunker, knife dangling by his side. Bright red lights started flashing around him, and he smirked cockily. Dean let out a bark of laughter, amused at his brother's lame attempt to try and stall his escape. What Sam didn't realize was that the demon getting out would be the last of his worries.

"Sammy!" Dean had started calling, bitter humor ringing out in his gruff voice, "You can't run for me for ever! Soon enough, I'm going to unlock this joint and turn of these stupid lights! Then? I'm going to find and kill you."

He wandered through the various hallways, searching for his brother and yelling taunting messages, until he finally reached the power room. He had strutted inside confidently and flipped a big switch, harsh red light changing to a dim white glow. Dean felt his eyes flicker black briefly, adjusting to the shift in lighting. He was about to head out the way that he came when he picked up the sound of footsteps behind him. He whirled around and caught Sam trying to sneak out the other exit.

Grinning widely, Dean ran after his fleeing younger brother, glad that the game of cat and mouse would be over soon. While it was fun, it was getting pretty tiring. He needed a drink, something much stronger than beer. The older Winchester chased after Sam, kicking down the doors that slammed heavily in his face.

"Dean, please!" Sam yelled behind him, "This isn't you! You need to try and fight it so that I can help you!"

The partial demon laughed loudly as he rounded a corner. "Not me, Sammy? This is all me! I've never felt better in my entire life! Now, you would really be a big help to me… by being dead on the floor in front of me. That'd be pretty freaking helpful."

He saw his brother's shoulders tense before Sam disappeared into the endless maze of hallways. Dean knew that he was getting to his younger brother, pushing all of the right buttons, and he smirked to himself. He also knew that the kid wouldn't kill him, no matter how much he needed to. Sam had always had a soft spot for family, never having neither the heart nor the gut to do what had to be done.

Dean briefly second guessed himself as he felt a firm arm wrap around his upper chest, a blade scratching gently at his jugular. Damn that stupid labyrinth for letting Sam get the best of him. Swearing quietly under his breath, he turned around slowly, green meeting hazel. One glance into Sam's eyes, though, and Dean knew that he had been right. Sammy couldn't kill his big brother.

"What are you waiting for, kiddo? Just kill me already. This is getting pretty boring," the partial demon sneered, his eyes flashing black, "Unless you can't do it. After all, how could you? How could you kill the man who took care of you your entire life, who sacrificed his own childhood to give you one? Kill the man who died for you so many freaking times that he's lost count? Isn't it at over one hundred after that whole mess with Gabriel? I guess that I had it coming, though. Parents always say that kids'll drain the life out of you. I'm not sure that they meant it literally, but who am I to criticize? So go ahead, Sammy. Do it."

The older Winchester bared his throat, feeling the knife pressed harder against it but not enough to draw any blood. Dean had faith that nothing bad was going to happen to him. He could tell by Sam's shaky hands and eyes, eyes that seemed hard on the outside but were broken inside. It was clear to anyone, especially someone who had seen that look so many times like Dean. They kept staring each other down until the younger of the two pulled away.

"I-I can't," Sam said, looking down. His voice was thick with regret and sadness. Dean felt a twinge inside of something, but he pushed it away as he pushed his brother roughly against the wall, holding him down with an arm across his chest.

He drew a dark red line across the younger Winchester's cheek with his hunting knife, ignoring his big brother instincts screaming in his head. "Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm really going to enjoy this. You know, I've been looking for a way to get rid of you for a while now. You were always a brat, from the time that you were just a spoiled little kid until today. You're a demon blood-drinking, apocalypse-starting, world-ending, family-betraying, mother-killing brother. And I couldn't hate you more for it."

Dean wanted to puke.

"That's not true, and you aren't thinking straight," the younger man tried to reason desperately.

"Oh but it is, and I am. Kid, this is probably the first time in my whole life that I'm really thinking straight," Dean laughed, circling his weapon around Sam's throat, "I couldn't be better! Well, I could be free from you, and i could do that right now. As much as I hate to say it, I'll do you a favor. Since you're my brother, I'll show you some mercy. It'll be a quick death.,.. painful as all hell, but quick. Hey, do you remember what I used to do to the kids who were mean to you in middle and high school? 'I'll rip their lungs out?'"

Sam's eyes widened, realizing what was about to happen.

The older Winchester grinned viciously and continued, "It's a bit too messy to do that, but I can do the next best thing. Don't worry, you'll be with Mom and Dad soon. See you around, Sammy."

With that, Dean plunged the knife into his brother's chest and grinned evilly, feeling Sam's life force starting to fade almost immediately. He slid the knife out smoothly, hearing a popping and deflating sound that could only be something large, vital, and full of air- like a lung. The partial demon pulled away, letting his brother slump to the ground with a bang. Sam coughed violently, red flecks splattered against his pale lips. Dean should have felt happy, right? Wasn't that exactly what he had wanted? The bane of his existence gone, dead?

He was looking straight at the blank wall, trying to figure out why the hell he wasn't ecstatic, when he heard a small voice from below.

"D-Dee?"

With that one word, he didn't see Sam winchester, massive screw-up who had ruined his entire life. He saw a newborn, full of hope and potential and the stars. He saw a hurt three-year-old needing Dean to patch him up with a bandaid and a magic kiss. He saw a sick five-year-old, only wanting his big brother and Thundercats to make him feel better. He saw a studious nine-year-old with his head always in a book, spouting off random facts and dedicating all of his time to Dean and his homework. He saw a stubborn thirteen-year-old who just wanted to do something wild and crazy for once in his life, like blow up a bunch of fireworks outside of town. He saw a broken eighteen-year-old, losing his small family in one shot but determined to make his way in the world. He say a boy, constantly trying to do the right thing. He saw a young adult who had given everything that he was to help save other people, only to be torn down for it time and time again. He saw a man so good and brave and strong that it astounded his older brother each and every day.

Dean saw his baby brother, Sammy.

Putting a hand over his mouth, he staggered backwards, green eyes filled with guilt and unshed tears. How could he have done this? What was wrong with him? What could have possibly made him think that his innocent brother was the enemy? Dean had, in that moment, realized that the demon blood within him and the Mark had created a vicious bloodlust that he couldn't control on his own. He needed Sam… Who was currently dying.

"Oh god oh god oh god," Dean muttered, rushing back over to his brother.

Sam was a horrendous sight. His face was twisted up in agony. his short, shallow breaths were tinged with red, causing blood to linger on his lips. He wasn't, however, clutching at his chest or trying to stop the profuse bleeding. Dean knew that it would have been a worthless attempt anyway; he hadn't been wrong when he said that he would gift his brother a relatively quick death. All in all, it made him feel terrible, but Sam's eyes were the thing that killed him.

They were partially hidden behind dark brown hair, but they were visible nonetheless. Dean had been expecting the hazel eyes that he knew better than his own to be filled with anger, pain, and betrayal. While there was pain, it wasn't the main emotion, being outshone by something else. Dean couldn't understand it. It didn't make any sense. Sam's eyes were shining against his nearly white skin with… Love? And elation? How could he be so happy to be dying by his own brother's hand?

"It's okay," Sam choked out, "You back with me now?"

The older Winchester laughed shakily and bent down next to his brother. "Yeah, I'm back, Sammy. But it isn't okay. I-I'm so sorry."

The dying man shook his head tiredly and said, wincing every couple of words, "It's alright. But listen, I don't think I have that much time, so-"

"No," Dean rumbled, 'Don't you dare give me that 'settle down and have a normal life' crap like last time. Don't you do that to me. That whole white picket fence life isn't what I want. It's never really been what I wanted. What I want is you, kiddo, by my side and on the road, doing what we do best. Saving people, hunting things, Sammy. But I can't have that. You can't have that, and it's all my fault. So don't you lie to me and say that everything is going to be alright, because it isn't. It's never going to be alright without you."

"At least you're you," Sam shrugged, flinching at the movement. The older man moved to sit with his back against the wall and maneuvered his brother to lean against his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to shaggy hair, muttering apologies for everything that he had said and repeating over and over how he hadn't meant it. Sam had stayed silent, seemingly taking it all in.

The younger Winchester had taken a shaky breath and tilted his head up, looking at Dean with wet eyes. "Dean, I forgive you." His brother couldn't decide if he wanted to cry, which he would start doing a few minutes later, or punch a wall, which he would do an hour or so after that.

"How?"

The response was instant: "Because you're my brother." It was so simple and yet so heartbreaking. They had risked the entire world for each other, literally. They had travelled to Heaven, Hell, and everywhere in between to save each other. They had killed both man and creature for family. It was all that they had, that unbroken bond of brotherhood, that they cherished deeply, even if they didn't always say it. All that the Winchester boys had ever really had was each other, but it had always been enough.

"Dee?" came a quiet voice, sounding awfully young, "Could you… Could you tell me a story?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean had choked out tearfully. At that moment, he wasn't going to deny his baby brother anything. Hell, if the kid had wanted a freaking unicorn, he would have found a way to get one. "Hey, Sammy? I know that we don't say this a lot, but I love you kiddo."

"No chick flick moments," he croaked out, 'But I love you too."

Dean swallowed the huge lump in his throat and forced himself to start talking. "There once was a boy named Sammy. He was the kindest, most noble person around, though no one realized it...'

He kept telling the tale after he felt a dead weight fall against his chest and tears rolling down his face. He kept rambling even though his words were barely understandable through the sobs wracking his body. He kept speaking, a rich guilt burrowing into his heart, mind, and soul. Still, he had to finish it. He owed it to his brother.

"Eventually, S-Sam gave up e-everything that he h-had. Only th-then did everyone s-see what a g-great person that h-he had b-been, what a h-hero, especially his b-big brother. Sammy f-finally got to r-rest, knowing h-how awesome he w-was and that h-his brother l-loved him."

Dean looked down at his brother, a ghost of a smile still on the latter's face. But Sam's eyes… They had held so many emotions and so much life, over thirty-one years worth. Dean had always been able to read them like a book, whether they were asking for a bottle or a safe haven from nightmares. Now, those expressive hazel orbs were empty, holding no light or spark or Sammy. The Winchester couldn't look at them anymore, so he closed them and just sobbed.

He knew that no power would be able to, or even willing to, bring Sam back to the world of the living, so he decided to give his brother the hunter's funeral that he deserved. Dean gently carried the taller man around to the back of the bunker and outside, laying him carefully on the ground. He crossed Sam's arms across his stomach, which was a familiar pose. That was how Sam had always slept, and it didn't feel right to his brother not seeing him like that. Dean then spent the next half an hour out building an amazing pyre, easily worthy of the bravest man that he had ever known. He picked his brother up and placed him on top of the wood before coating him with a layer of salt and lighter fluid. As he tossed the lighter onto the pyre and watched flames erupt, he couldn't help but be reminded of a summer night so long ago, of a teenage boy with fireworks in his eyes. Tearfully, he stepped back and turned on the radio in tribute.

Carry on my wayward son.

There'll be peace when you are done.

Lay your weary head to rest.

Don't you cry no more.

Dean couldn't help but feel like Kansas had written that song just for his baby brother. Sammy had always found the strength to keep going, no matter how badly he had screwed up. Even with the entire world against him, he dedicated everything that he had to fix his and everyone else's mistakes. He had brought peace to all of the people whose lives he saved and their families. And now? Sam was finally at rest, and he wouldn't have to suffer anymore. He could finally have his heaven. No one deserved it more than him.

Barely registering the chilly air, the last Winchester sat outside listening to the radio until he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. He looked up, watery green meeting sorrowful ice blue.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said softly, choosing his words carefully, "I'm very sorry about Sam."

Dean let out a sad sigh, scooting over on the bench to make room for the angel. "I just feel like I'm going to wake up from a nightmare, you know? I'm going to wake up and Sammy's going to be asleep in his bedroom, completely fine. Why can't it be like that, Cas? Why can't I have my brother next to me, doing what we do best? Why can't he still be here with us?"

His voice betrayed him, cracking on the last word. He sniffled and ducked his head, feeling the urge to cry rise up again. Cas softly took one of his hands and tilted his chin up.

"It'll be okay," the angel promised.

That's when Dean did it. He kissed Castiel, full of longingness and guilt and incredible sorrow. He needed to be close to someone, to have someone on his side, and no one was better than the man that he had been in love with for years. Cas responded, passing on his own regret. It would have been a good moment, one that the partial demon had been dreaming about for years, if Dean didn't feel so broken inside. They pulled apart, sitting in silence for a while.

Castiel spoke up, "Dean… I can't let you keep running around as a demon… but I don't think that you would be able to handle the emotions that you are dealing with in a human state."

'Then get rid of me," Dean said, "Kill me, destroy me. Do something, dammit. I don't deserve to be here when S-Sam isn't."

Blue eyes stood out against suddenly pale skin. "I don't want to do that."

"What then? Am I supposed to live in this in-between zone forever? Hell, can I even do that?"

It wasn't actually allowed, but it was possible. All that Dean had to do was get an injection of blessed blood every week or so from Castiel. They couldn't stay together, though, since Cas had to go track down fallen angels and couldn't have a demon travelling with him, so he told Dean where to meet him a few days in advance. That was what brought him to the dingy little bar, painfully reminiscing. He nursed the scotch that the only bartender had given him while he was lost in thought. he had to remember to give that guy a big tip before he left.

A pretty blonde sauntered drunkenly over to the green-eyed man a few moments later, grinning wildly and glancing over her shoulder at her friends. She tugged down her shirt a bit more to put her cleavage on full display and started flirting.

"Hey there, hot stuff. Whadaya say we get out of here and do something more fun?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Some chicks really couldn't hold their alcohol. A few months ago, he would have taken advantage of the situation and been all over her like white on rice. It wasn't appealing to him, not with Sam's blood on his hands and not after what happened with Cas.

He said darkly, "Not interested, sweetheart. Why don't you quit while you're ahead and just go home?"

'Aw, come on baby. We could have a real good time," she slurred, putting her hand on his arm. Dean was about to yank her off of him when someone spoke up behind them.

"He said no," boomed a deep voice. The man on the stool grinned as he realized who it was. God, that voice was music to Dean's ears.

'And who are you?"

"His boyfriend," Cas growled, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

The chick put her hands on her hips and winked clumsily, "Hey, I'm up for anything that you two are."

"Get. Lost," the partial demon flashed his eyes black at her, quickly losing any patience that he had. She gasped and ran back over to her friends.

"Ready to go? We have some business to attend to," Castiel said, his tone much more gentle than the one he gave to the blonde.

Dean turned to face him, smiling bitterly. "As I'll ever be."

The two of them left, the cold bitchslapping them in the face on their way out. Dean could see the paths that laid in front of him. he could choose to screw everything and just leave. He could stop taking human blood and regress back into a pure, feral monster who cared about nothing but himself. He could kill, and he could be happy. It would be so easy for Dean to go down that road, leaving nothing but dust in his wake.

Or he could keep going the way he was. Dean could get into Cas's concerning car, the one that looked like it was going to break down any second. He could go through the painful process of injecting the purified blood that would wreak havoc on his insides, all to give him a conscience. He could suffer and grieve and go through so many emotions that his heart would probably break right in two.

He got into the shitty-ass car and closed his eyes. Dean knew that the journey ahead would be hard, harder than almost anything, but he would still do it.

Sam would have wanted him to.


End file.
